My Turn
by pyrotorch246
Summary: During Archangel's recruitment Shepard repays a favor to an old friend. Oneshot.


"_War is hell."_

—_William T. Sherman_

Even the best make mistakes. No one likes to admit it, but it happens. And when it happens, the consequences are generally lethal.

Luck doesn't play favorites, and in war, sooner or later, everyone meets the dark side of chance. Every bullet dodged by a hairs-breath, every grenade with a faulty detonator in your foxhole adds up. Every account is eventually balanced.

A Geth soldier blindsided me in the middle of a firefight, with devastating consequences. The AI governing the combat platform reacted to the new situation in microseconds. An electrical pulse traveled from the unit's processing core along synthetic nerves, carrying a single command. Tendons tightened, causing a single digit to flex, depressing a small curved piece of metal. This in turn started a chain reaction of its own, with then end result of a bullet leaving the barrel of the assault rifle at a highly respectable fraction of the speed of light.

It was joined shortly afterwards by dozens of companions, all of which smashed into my shields and armor. The combination of kinetic barrier and light plating stopped the vast majority of the rounds.

Two got through.

The first passed through my left bicep, missed an artery by little more than a centimeter and caused massive trauma to the flesh surrounding the impact point. The second punched through the armor protecting my ribs, tore through my left lung at an angle, formed a second hole in my ribs on the way out, before expending the last of its energy deforming itself on the inside of my chestplate.

Medi-gel could have handled the arm wound in the field, though use of the arm itself would have been impossible. It wouldn't have been able to deal with the lung wound completely, but it would have help.

All of this was irrelevant—we were out of medi-gel and I was out of the fight.

Moments later, a shotgun blast turned the Geth into mangled wreckage as Wrex reacted to my fall. The roars of his weapon were joined by the deep, sharp impact of a sniper rifle firing, over and over again, as Garrus made sure that none of the Geth reached me while I coughed blood into my helmet's faceplate.

The two of them stood over my body until the last of the Geth had been destroyed, guarding me to the best of their remarkable abilities.

In the background, I heard frantic radio chatter as Wrex called the in the _Normandy_ for medevac. At the same time, hands began to undo the catches on my armor, and Garrus pulled off the chest- and backplates before ripping off my helmet, allowing me to cough and spit onto the ground. Without medi-gel, he did the only thing he could—he put pressure on the wound, doing his best to stop the bleeding.

It was a wasted effort. My arm was leaking blood steadily, and while Garrus doing his best to stop the blood flow from the exit wound on my chest, it gushed out of the hole in my back, spreading around my body in a puddle. Even more blood began to fill my lungs, which convulsed in an attempt to drain themselves, causing me to cough again and again.

I heard a muted roar as the _Normandy_ made an emergency landing, the cargo bay open to atmosphere, hanging barely a meter above the ground. The remainder of the ground team was visible, some of them sitting with legs hanging out of the frigate, and others standing in the door, but all of them were armed, their weapons constantly tracking across the LZ.

When the _Normandy_ came to a complete halt, those who were sitting on the edge dropped down and fanned out, securing the area beyond the limit of my vision. They had barely put boots on the ground before Dr. Chakwas and stretcher team rushed out to meet us.

The last thing I saw was Chackwas' concerned face bending over me through a rapidly narrowing field of vision.

That was a little more than two years ago. Since then, I'd died and come back to life, resurrected by an organization that has given me every reason to hate it. I'd believed old friends lost to me forever, only to find acceptance in the form of Tali, who believed in me regardless of my involvement with Cerberus, even if she wasn't free to join me.

Now, right in front of me, another old friend who I'd never expected to see again was dying. Seconds ago, I'd watched as Garrus was raked by heavy gun fire from a Mantis gunship, rounds hammering into him until kinetics failed, armor buckled, and skin was pierced.

Even that was not enough to stop him. He dragged himself behind cover, only to be caught in the blast of a missile from Tarak's gunship.

Once he was down a single, inane thought ran through my head, _My turn, Garrus_. He'd covered me while I was down, and now I would do the same for him. The same thing I'd do for anyone who I'd lived with and fought with. Even if they're dying, I don't give up on friends until there's no other choice.

Tarak was just hovering there, enjoying his victory. As far as he was concerned, nothing we could do could touch him.

He was wrong.

The M-98 Widow Anti-Materiel Rifle is not available to the general public. Nor does your average arms dealer carry them. In point of fact, I'm not even sure how Cerberus acquired one for me. The production and distribution of M-98s is tightly controlled, and limited to the special operations branches of Council Militaries, and the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch, under the Citadel Council.

The M-98 is not a subtle weapon. While other military sniper rifles rely upon either burst fire or a higher rate of fire to penetrate defenses, the Widow operates on the principle of brute force. It overwhelms kinetic and biotic barriers with the sheer momentum of its extra-large round, and makes infantry-grade armor look like tinfoil. In most cases, it is a mission specific weapon, the use of which is restricted to operations where large numbers of either krogan or armored vehicles are expected.

I would be surprised if Tarak had ever even heard of the M-98, much less seen one. Despite being one of the largest and best equipped mercenary companies, the Blue Suns almost certainly had no Widows.

In short, Tarak never saw it coming.

Nevertheless, even as I was bringing the rifle to bear, the gunship sidesliped around the building, dropping more mercenaries through the window rather than engaging us directly.

Miranda and Jacob responded with an impressive biotic assault. Mass effect fields lit the far end of the room with an eerie blue glow, the two of them synchronizing their abilities in a display of teamwork that could only have been a result of years of experience with each other. I contributed a few well placed rounds, but I was content to let the two of them handle it. I had bigger prey.

Eventually, Tarak was forced to bring the gunship into play again. When he did I was waiting.

It took only a single shot. I waited patiently until I had it lined up, ignoring the gunfire tearing up the rest of the room.

For a single golden instant my crosshairs were centered on Tarak's head. My right index finger applied pressure smoothly to the trigger of the M-98, and a round erupted from the barrel. It smashed its way through the armored glass of the Mantis's cockpit before it crumpled helmet and skull inward, retaining enough velocity to rupture the partition between cockpit and troop bay.

Garrus was still alive when I bent down over him and told him he would make it though, before ordering and immediate pickup by the _Normandy_'s shuttle. At least this time we had medi-gel, and he would live long enough to make it into the capable hands of Dr. Chakwas.

Seven hours later Garrus Vakarian stepped into the communications center of the SR-2 _Normandy_. His face was scarred, most of his lower right jaw had been replaced by cybernetics, and his armor was battered and scorched, but he was alive.

"_For he to-day that sheds his blood with me_

_Shall be my brother"_

—_Act IV, Scene iii, Henry V, _

_by William Shakespeare_

A/N: Three guesses as to what my favorite gun in ME2 is, and the first two don't count.

That being said, I'm well aware that the M-98 cannot kill any gunship, or krogan, in a single shot. In my opinion, that is simply a game balance issue. If the M-98 was actually representative of an anti-materiel rifle, then only the Human-Reaper would be able to stand up to more than one hit, since an anti-materiel rifle is by definition designed to kill tanks (or gunships, as the case may be).


End file.
